Every evening during Ramadan, the burst of firecrackers breaks the quietude of a village named Vazhakkad in Kerala's Malappuram. It's not an exuberant display of festivity but marks a solemn moment for the believers to end the day's fast. The firecrackers are set off just before the maghrib prayer. M P Abdullah, 61, has been faithfully setting off firecrackers at the masjid ground for over four decades, continuing a tradition that has echoed through this humble village for more than a century.

For Abdulla, the firecrackers at the Juma Masjid, Vazhakkad, in Malappuram, were a childhood awe. From his brother’s cycle shop, just a few meters away, he would watch men carefully filling, setting, and igniting the crackers during Ramadan evenings. That early curiosity grew into a lifelong commitment which he continues to abide without fail.

“There are six or seven masjids in Vazhakkad town alone. Each gives the call to maghrib prayer at slightly different times—sometimes a few seconds, sometimes a minute apart. But the sound of the firecracker unites them all. It’s okay to fast a minute longer. So, we set off the crackers two minutes ahead, ensuring no one ends their fast prematurely," said Abdullah, who is also a farmer.

His journey with this ritual began in his twenties. Having left school after sixth grade, he spent his days helping at his brother Aalikkutty’s cycle shop. The masjid was close by, and he and his friends would eagerly gather to watch Alahkka, the man who handled the firecrackers back then. When the ageing caretaker could no longer continue, Abdullah’s brother, a member of the masjid committee, passed the responsibility on to him.

“In the earlier days, the explosive powder was made by hand. Now, it is sourced from specialists at a place near Kadalundi. The powder is stuffed into iron cases, which are dried thoroughly in the sun before use. Each case, crafted from sheets of iron with a 1.5-inch radius hole, is reusable until the metal wears out or the hole at the base enlarges. The powder is filled halfway, then beaten down tightly—at least a hundred times—to ensure maximum compression. Black soil, often mixed with fragments of roof tiles, is added and further compressed to seal the powder inside. A small hole at the bottom serves as the ignition point. When the fire is set, the clay bursts open with a loud explosion. The tighter the clay is packed, the louder the sound. Also, if the beating is less, the sound weakens. Each day during Ramadan, two such crackers are prepared with the same precision," Abdullah explained.

In the beginning, Abdullah prepared the crackers at the cycle shop under his brother’s guidance and transported them in a tin box on his cycle’s carrier. For the first year, his brother assisted in setting the powder. From the next year onwards, the entire process became his responsibility. Now, he works from his home, close to the masjid, and takes the crackers on vehicles to the ground.

Over the years, Abdullah has developed an instinct for the exact moment to light the crackers. “I know when the muezzin switches on the mic for the Maghrib prayer. As soon as I hear the faint tap on the mic, I set the fire.” By then, other masjids may have already called for prayer, but many still wait for the familiar boom. The sound travels as far as eight kilometres, cutting through the hum of the town.

The tradition itself has evolved over time. Abdullah recalls hearing from elders that before firecrackers, "Arabanamutt," a percussion instrument, was used to signal the end of the fast. “It wasn’t very loud, but back then, the town was quieter, and people would sit patiently, waiting for its sound.” Morning crackers, once set before the subh prayer, were eventually discontinued.

Despite the advent of modern sound systems and loudspeakers, the firecracker holds a special place in the hearts of the people. “Many suggest we stop it since the call to prayer through the mic is loud enough. But no other sound unites the town like the firecracker. It stands alone,"

The masjid committee allocates ₹10,000 annually to cover the costs. For Abdullah, this duty is more than just a ritual—it is a lifelong connection to the community and a sound that binds Vazhakkad’s evenings during the holy month of Ramadan, an effort wholly supported by his wife Mymuna and children.